


winchester, connecticut

by weefaol



Series: fifty states [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Forbidden Love, Getting Together, Guilt, Guilty Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: John died six months ago, leaving Sam and Dean to grapple with their deepest, darkest desires.And in Winchester, Connecticut, there's nowhere to hide.





	winchester, connecticut

**Author's Note:**

> the story formerly named "two wrongs"

Proverbs aren’t for extraordinary men — the exceptions to the rules.

They’re for everyone else.

It came to Sam in a shining.

~ ~ ~

There’s a midnight black Chevy Impala parked at the Cactus Motor Lodge on the outskirts of Winchester. It’s stupid, really. There are no cactuses in Connecticut.

But there's a prickly motel room, one floor up. Covered in stinging nettles and scars.

It’s been six months since Dad died. Three weeks since the last salt and burn. Two nights since the Pierpont Inn, where aliases and alcohol make cursed men do cursed things.

They’ve been doing this dance for years.

~ ~ ~

“Sam,” says Dean, shakes his head. Avoids his eye. “I can’t do this. It’s —”

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

Rings like a gong.

“It doesn’t feel wrong,” Sam pleads. Reads his mind like a radio wave. He’s attuned. Turned on.

Dean cocks his head, eyeing little brother carefully. “Come on, Sammy. You know what this is.”

“Don’t,” says Sam, steps forward. He can’t bear it. “Please, don’t say it.”

“It’s _incest_ ,” says Dean, like poison. Sends a shiver down Sam’s spine. “Backwoods hillbilly _get-your-sister-pregnant_ type shit. No two ways about it.”

“That’s not us,” says Sam. Clenches his fist. He’s resolute. Refuses to believe. “We’re different.”

_The exception to the rule._

“We're worse,” says Dean, wincing. Shakes his head. Rattles those inner demons good. “I raised you, for Christ's sake. And now this?” He gestures between them. “It’s fucked up.”

“It’s _not_ ,” whines Sam, lies. Scrabbles at the front of Dean’s shirt. Clings to the one thread he’s got left.

Dean quivers all over. He’s fighting it, Sam knows. Bites his lip, stretches skin over knuckles.

He quiets.

“Sam, what would Dad say if —” The words get stuck in his throat. Too horrible to give voice to them.

“No,” says Sam, shakes him once. Grips him good and tight. “He’s got nothing to do with this. This is between _us_ , Dean. You and me.”

Dean clenches his jaw, swallows his guilt.

_Take care of Sammy._

A child soldier’s commandment. Grown up too fast.

_Take care of Sammy._

Dad would roll over in his grave if he knew what that meant now.

_Take care of —_

“Listen,” says Sam, cups his cheek. Calms him. “It’s not normal. I _know_ that.” Thumbs gently along his ten o’ clock shadow. “But we didn’t choose this, Dean. It chose us.” His fingers tremble. “I can’t change how I feel. Can you?”

Dean meets his eyes. They flutter in the green, a little boy lost. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Sam closes the gap between them, pulls Dean so close he feels warm breath. Tastes his whiskey tongue. Touches their foreheads together. “We deserve something good in our lives, Dean. We deserve to be happy.”

“You, yes,” Dean whispers, afraid. “Me, I’m not so sure…”

“You deserve it,” says Sam, a whisper back as he peppers little kisses at his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “For taking care of me all these years.” _You deserve everything._ “Please, Dean. It’s my turn. Let me take care of you…”

They pull together in the dark, tugging and pawing and pressing. No one knows sin like them.

There are no cactuses in Connecticut.

But there is thorny relief.  
Succulent and sweet.


End file.
